Allen Castle—Scotland—1651

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The lass was persistent. It was the tenth letter he’d received from her in as many months. He’d yet to open a single one. He knew what he would find—a series of blurred letters to taunt him. Simply more proof that he was losing his sight. And even if he could make out Sydney’s words to him, what would he say in return? There was so much he couldn’t tell her. Until his land was securely deeded to another, he couldn’t tell her the truth of where he lived, or what he did, or even truly, who he was. Until he returned home to the rest of The Eight, he couldn’t know if the damage to his eyes was permanent. Even if it was, Sydney was the last person he would want to know. She was one of the few who knew his heart. If he truly lost his vision, he wanted her to remember him as he was before.

As much as it pained him, he would have to let his friendship with her die.

“Thank ye, Madge. Please take this to my bedchamber and leave it with the others.”

The old woman nodded but leaned in to quietly whisper in his ear.

“Aye, o’course, sir. If ye’d like to have someone read it to ye, I can have my son come to ye when ye retire this evening. I could assure his discretion.”

Raudrich reached out and grabbed her arm as she stepped away to leave him.

“Ye do know that I can read, doona ye, Madge?”

Her voice still low, she answered him.

“Aye sir, but ye canna see the words, can ye?”

His heart sank at Madge’s observation. His position as laird was already precarious enough.

“Do others know?”

“I doona believe so. Not many spend as much time with ye as I do. Though ye willna be able to hide it forever.”

“Thank ye, Madge. Just leave the letter with the others.”

He waited until she was gone from his view before standing from his seat. Music surrounded him as his clansmen danced and drank with merriment. He wished he could enjoy the evening with them, but a strong sense of foreboding made him uneasy. Two tragedies in the span of two months. First, the unexpected death of the man set to replace him as laird, followed shortly by the sudden and swiftly progressing loss of his eyesight. A third tragedy couldn’t be far behind—they always came in threes.

He could still see at a distance, though the edges of things were slightly blurred. He hoped it would hold steady until he could find another man to replace him. He’d been away from the eight for far too long, and having his powers stretched over such a great distance and for so long was costing him his vision. Never before had one of the eight stayed away from their magic for so long. Even those who had left for a short while had suffered much, and he’d been away for two and a half years.

He could just make out Silva standing at the end of the hall, hiding under a castle archway as she waved him toward her.

He waited until he neared her to speak. “What is it?”

“A messenger arrived from yer home, Raudrich.”

Panic set in at Silva’s words. Everything seemed to be falling apart so quickly. She hurried to reassure him by placing a hand on his arm.

“Doona worry. ’Twas I who greeted him. No one else saw the rider arrive or leave. Ye needn’t worry.”

Silva, the widow of the man set to replace him tonight, knew nothing of the truth about him, but she knew him well enough to see that something was wrong. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have hurried to calm his nerves.

There were few among his clansmen that he trusted fully, but he would have to trust Silva with the truth this night. This was a letter he couldn’t put off opening.

“Will ye come with me to my bedchamber, Silva? I need ye to read the letter out loud to me, and it must be read in private.”

He didn’t need to see her face clearly to know that her expression was confused, but she said nothing as he turned to make sure that she followed along behind him.

The moment they were safely inside his room, she spoke.

“Why do ye need me to read this? Surely, there is no need for me to know what is inside.”

“I canna see it. A fortnight after yer husband passed, my vision began to decline. Each day it grows a little worse.”

Silva’s voice was filled with concern.

“What would cause this? Have ye seen the healer about it? Mayhap there is something she can do to help.”

“No. I know the cause well enough. All that I doona know is whether or not the vision is restorable. Please read the letter.”

He moved to sit as Silva opened the letter. He knew what would be inside.

The third tragedy. He knew there was no other reason for someone from The Land of Eight Lairds to ride here. They all knew how dangerous such a message would be for him.

As Silva began to read, his worst suspicions were confirmed.

Timothy, the oldest of The Eight had lost his long battle with illness. The Eight were now seven, and it was more important than ever that he make preparations to leave Allen territory for good.

Once Silva finished reading the letter, she moved to bend in front of him, gathering his hands in hers.

“Who is this man that ye’ve lost? Who is so urgently calling ye away from here?”

An unprecedented idea came to mind as he looked at Silva. There was only one thing he could do. With one of The Eight now dead, he couldn’t remain here another day.

He took his time explaining everything to her, sparing her no truth.

“When my brother passed, this land became mine, but it is not mine by right. Since the age of thirteen, my loyalty has been pledged to another clan, which, as ye know, voids me of my inheritance. There is a land verra far from here that requires the magic of eight druids to keep the evil that resides within it at bay. Like my grandfather before me, I possess magic. I am one of The Eight. The man that passed was one of The Eight, as well. With The Eight now broken, the evil back at home will begin to look for a way to rise. It is imperative that I return home so we can search for a worthy man to replace Timothy.

“I came here after my brother’s death to see the village settled, to make certain that I found a just man to take my brother’s stead as laird. It has always been my intention to return to the isle that is now my home. No one else in the clan can ever know of this. If they do, they willna accept the decision I know is right.”

“And what decision is that?”

“I must leave here tonight, but first we must find a witness. I shall deed all of my land to ye, Silva. Ye shall be the first female laird of Allen territory.”